Parting Shots
by Nitesh
Summary: When Roger's left for Santa Fe, Mark really isn't sure what to do but think over Roger's last words to him. Could be seen as MarkRoger. Oneshot. [Uses second half of Goodbye, Love, cut from movie.]


Parting Shots

So.

It's been a week.

Maureen says I've been holed up here in the loft since Roger left. Says that I'm being stupid, that Roger will come to his senses eventually, that he'll come back. Collins says that even if Roger doesn't come to his senses, he'll need to come back anyway, because there's no way he can get to Santa Fe in a car with a half a tank of gas and no money to fill it. They've both been visiting regularly. I'm not quite sure why anymore. But they're being encouraging, like I'm suffering some great loss. An infinite weight put on my shoulders, a burden on my heart.

Poetic.

I told Maureen that I wasn't eating because I wasn't hungry. I mean, God. Not everything comes down to Roger all the time. It's true, though, that I've been thinking a lot lately instead, and the reason for that is because he's gone. It's finally quiet enough to do that. Usually he's blasting his guitar or doing something irresponsible. I always have to watch him, like he's some ten year old kid. Can't take my eyes off him for a goddamn minute, always forgetting to take his AZT or yelling about Mimi.

Mimi.

Mimi left too. I mean, she's just... _gone_, like me. Except everyone else knows where I am, and no one's sure where Mimi is. It's hard to explain, really. Maybe she went away to think too.

I haven't been able to stop thinking since he's left. I don't know if I've slept for more then a few hours each night. I can't remember anymore. It's like this whole week's been some sort of weird time lapse. Come Sunday, it won't have even existed. Roger would be here, and he'd start a fight with Mimi, and Benny would get involved, and it would take weeks for them to all get over it.

That'd be perfect.

The truth is, I really haven't been thinking much about where Roger is now, or what he's doing. I mean, I _have _been thinking about it, but it's not been the dominating. Contrary to popular belief (Maureen and Collins), I'm not grieving the loss of a roommate.

What's bothering me is what Roger said before he left.

"_Mark's got his work... they say Mark lives for his work, and Mark's in love with his work... Mark hides in his work."_

It's like the words are etched into my head. Every bitter syllable. I haven't touched my camera since he's been gone. I can't. I've tried, tried to pick it up and point it and film and say some stupid monologue, but I can't.

Do I live for my work? Reason says no, I couldn't possibly. There's so much I've done in the last year. Met Angel, met Mimi, watched Maureen and Joanne go through multiple breakups, lost Angel. Lost Mimi and Roger now. And yet, they all point in the same direction. I watched Maureen and Joanne. Collins met Angel, Roger met Mimi. I didn't meet anyone. I watched, and I filmed.

"_From facing your failure, facing your loneliness- facing the fact you live a lie."_

Was that what this was about? Couldn't find a romance of my own to latch onto? Lost Maureen, and suddenly I'm dead to the entire dating world? Roger thinks I'm spending my life pining away for someone that I had and lost?

No. I'm not lonely. I've seen Maureen and Joanne go at it, and heard Mimi and Roger scream at each other, fights that last days at a time. I don't need that, and I don't want it. I'd rather just... watch. Just sit and watch and film it all out so I can just... look at it.

It's funny, I guess. When you're taping and filming, and you watch the movies later, everyone's interacting and talking with each other. It's almost like you don't exist. A world without Mark.

"_Yes, you live a lie! Tell you why- you're always preaching not to be numb when that's how you thrive! You pretend to create and observe but you really detach from feeling alive!"_

Is that detaching? Does that count?

"_For someone who longs for a community of his own- who's with his camera? Alone?"_

Roger usually doesn't mean anything he says when he's angry, and he was angry then.

And yet...

...I don't want to think about it anymore.

Sigh. Breathe in, breathe out. Get off the couch. Pang in stomach? Well, okay man, if you insist. Captain Crunch, breakfast of champions, here I come. Granted, it's three in the afternoon, but even so.

I find that when I've filled the bowl and added milk that I'm no longer hungry. An exasperated sound comes out of my throat involuntarily, and I pour it down the sink before flopping down into a chair next to the counter. Figures. I know it's probably not a good thing that I've been eating and sleeping irregularly, but it's not something that I have time to fix. Too busy.

Something hits the door.

I turn my head to look at it. I don't really feel inclined to get up and check to see who it is. Probably Maureen or, more likely, Collins, as the door is not giving off the illusion that it's chattering a mile a minute.

Something hits it again. I turn my face away. Maybe I should have had the Captain Crunch after all.

"Mark, let me in. I don't have my key."

Should I make another bowl, or wait for the feeling to go away again...?

"I know you're in there, Mark. Open the goddamn door."

My brain registers the last few words, and I look back at the door. Before I really know it, my feet are up and I'm moving. Bolt slides in the lock, and as soon as I'm finished I wonder why I didn't slide it locked instead of opened. Twist the door handle.

Roger's standing outside, looking in at me, his mouth set in a funny way on his face. I stare back.

Usually he'd wave me aside, saunter inside, and drop down onto the couch without a moment's hesitation, without saying much of a greeting to me. It's different this time. My hand's still on the door handle, I'm blocking his way. He'd have to shove past me to get inside this time.

"What'd you forget?"

The words were so emotionless they sounded cold, even to me. I almost regret them as his jaw drops for just a second. But then his usual brooding expression falls into place. I'm not even sure if he's angry. It's a default expression for him. I'd say that he's hurt, but he's not hurt, because Roger doesn't let stupid things like that get to him. It's just me that gets that way. Worked up about words.

"I said, what-"

"Just shut up, okay?" He doesn't make an effort to try to come inside. "I need to tell you something, so just shut up and listen to me."

I lean against the door frame, cross my arms, and wait.

I'm not even angry. I'm just cold and... yes, numb. I'm numb to it. I just stare at Roger through my glasses as he glances down the hallway as if something down there could help him, stare at him just as if I was watching him through my camera.

"You probably already know what happened." He sounds disgusted with himself. "Car broke down, had no money. Probably knew I would come back eventually." He crosses his arms, and I stare at his wrists, preferring that to his face. "Look, I... I slept in the car for a while, but in the end, I had to come back." He rubs his chin hard, and, distracted, I follow the hand up to his face. It's true, he hasn't shaved in a while.

"The thing is..." He jams his hands into his pockets and stares moodily at the ground. "I missed you. Missed everyone. And..." He sighed angrily, stared harder at the ground. "I... I'm sorry. There."

I understand, but I can't acknowledge it now. "Are you back?" I hear myself say. I can't seem to be able to ask anything more complex. Brain malefaction, system error. Shutdown required.

"Yeah, unless you... unless you rented out my room to someone else."

I fight a battle with a yawn and lose miserably. "Of course not. Get inside." I walk back toward the kitchen, leaving him to close the door behind him.

"Thanks, Mark." The words are so quiet I barely hear them. I wave a hand awkwardly, not bothering to turn around.

"I haven't slept in a while, Roger," I say finally. "I'm taking a nap." I'm halfway down the hall before I call out again. "Don't forget to take your AZT."

I hear him sing a tiny snippet of song as I shut the door to my room. _"That drip of hurt, that pint of shame... goes away, just play the game."_

I feel, very suddenly, at ease again.


End file.
